


Once Upon a Time in Weehawken (Outlaw Torn)

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Aaron Burr-centric, Angst and Feels, Based on a Metallica Song, Depression, Forgiveness?, Gen, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Isolation, Poor Aaron Burr, Regret, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:24:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22700179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: After the duel, Aaron Burr flees and deals with the emotional fallout of what he's done.
Relationships: Aaron Burr & Alexander Hamilton
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	Once Upon a Time in Weehawken (Outlaw Torn)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, relatively new Hamilfan here. I haven't seen the show - can't afford the tickets, man - but I love **_The Hamilton Mixtape_** and the Broadway soundtrack. 
> 
> I also love Metallica, and this whole thing was inspired by and written while listening to their song "Outlaw Torn" from their 1996 album _**Load**_ on repeat. (Seriously, if you haven't heard it, what are you waiting for?)
> 
> From everything I've read, IRL Aaron Burr was a real douchebag/asshole about the whole thing, bragging about killing Alex when he spoke about it at all. He really did run away to Georgia for a little while, but I doubt he was mawkish and weepy about it.
> 
> Anyway, hope you like it. Thanks for reading.

The moment the bullet discharges from the pistol, Aaron's life shatters irrevocably. 

He watches in horror, his brown eyes wide and woeful, as the small lead ball slams into Alexander's rib-cage, just above his right hip. 

He yelps and collapses heavily to the ground, his hand clutching his bleeding side.

"Wait," Aaron stammers. He takes a few steps towards him, reaching out as if to touch him. "Wait, that wasn't supposed to happen! No, goddammit!" He sobs and drops his pistol.

Aaron covers his eyes with his hands to block out the sight of Alexander wheezing and bleeding out on the ground in front of him. He thinks of the game he used to play with Theodosia when she was a baby. _Where’s Daddy? Here he is!_

Aaron can’t remember the last time he prayed, but he does so now.

He rattles off the words of the Lord’s Prayer, his knees shaking. Before he can fall to his knees, he is grabbed and dragged away. 

It is as if he has no control over his body. 

William yanks him about as effortlessly as a child does a doll made of dried corn husks. Perhaps that’s what he has become.

He does not speak, but lets himself be pulled along. When they reach the riverbank, Aaron hunkers down in the boat. He is shivering so hard that his teeth chatter. 

He wraps his arms around himself and wails. “I didn’t - I didn’t mean to! I d-didn’t want that to happen. My God, William, I’ve shot him! D-do you think I k-killed him?”

William scowls and slaps Aaron across the face. Aaron touches his cheek and stares at him, wide-eyed and stricken.

“I’m sorry, sir, but you were spiraling. You need to stay focused. You’re going to be alright. We’re going to get you out of here.” 

William coughs and picks up the oar to row them across the river.

“But where are we going?” Aaron blinks and looks at the water listlessly. 

Even in this state, he knows that it’s better to speak. If he were to do what he wants, clam up and retreat into his own mind, things will be worse for him. Won’t they?

“Wherever it is, we’ve got to get you clear out of New Jersey and New York as soon as possible. I know a man in Georgia -”

“Then I suppose that’s where we’re going.”

* * *

The man William knows is one Pierce Butler, the owner of a large tobacco plantation on a small island off the southeast coast of Georgia. 

He agrees to allow Aaron to stay with him for a while as his guest. 

This is fortunate; word has reached Aaron that Alexander died of his wound the day after their duel. He has been formally charged with dueling and murder in New York and New Jersey.

His future is uncertain, but he knows one thing for sure: he can never run for political office again. No one will vote for him now.

Aaron thanks Butler for his hospitality and, without another word, retires to the guest bedroom upstairs and collapses onto the bed where he lays in a dead sleep for the rest of the day and through the night.

His slumber is only broken when one of Butler's young house slaves brings him a small tray the next morning. She sets it on the bedside table, curtsies, and leaves wordlessly. Aaron murmurs a quiet "thank you" when she has already closed the door.

The breakfast spread is simple, including toast with jam, bacon, and grits, with a mug of steaming coffee. Aaron's stomach rumbles and he bites into the piece of toast ravenously. He has not eaten since the morning of the duel.

He quickly eats his victuals and descends to the main floor. He wears the same waistcoat and trousers he slept in, the same ones he dueled in. He has nothing else to wear. _Good God,_ he thinks to himself. _How much lower can I go?_

 _Well, I suppose I could have ended up like poor Alexander. Then I should wind up about six feet lower._ Aaron laughs bitterly and shakes his head vigorously, as if he can physically banish his dark thoughts. Tears blur his vision at the realization that he will never see Alexander again.

 _I hope you’re happy. I hope you’re happy now,_ he thinks. If there is some kind of afterlife, if there really is a Heaven with mansions and streets of gold, then Alex is undoubtedly there. 

Aaron sneers at the thought that, if he had stayed on the first professional path he’d embarked, he would have become a Presbyterian minister. The thought of himself dressed in the somber black cassock of a clergyman nearly makes him laugh aloud.

Aaron sighs and slowly traipses upstairs again.

* * *

Aaron stays in the guest room for the next week. He neither bathes nor changes out of the clothes from the duel. It’s almost as if Alex is still here when Aaron sobs sloppily into the sleeve of his waistcoat, deeply inhaling the scent of sweat and blood.

He doesn’t mean to, but a voice inside his head torments him, telling him the world would have been better off if he had died instead. So he takes the small straight razor in the bathroom, reddish brown with rust and age, and presses the edge of it along the veins of his wrists. 

He feels a strong urge sometimes to take the blade and slit his throat from ear to ear. It would serve him right.

But no, he mustn’t ever do that. No matter how bleak his future may seem, no matter how wide the welcoming arms of oblivion stretch, Aaron cannot give in. 

He thinks of Theodosia and how devastated she would be to hear the news of his death. He thinks of his grandson, his namesake, not yet two years old.

“Huh, now that I think of it, isn’t Alexander’s youngest child about two years old...?”

“Why yes, yes he is.” The voice that was only inside his mind is now audible. Aaron blinks and rubs his eyes. When he opens them, there is Alexander, standing in the doorway. 

His arms are crossed over his chest and he leans heavily against the door, blood dripping from the wound on his side. When he speaks, small beads of blood also trickle from the corners of his mouth.

“His name is Philip, like my firstborn son of blessed memory. Eliza nicknamed him ‘Little Philip.’ He’s so calm and quiet, and he smiles at everything. He really is a perfect child. He was the light of my life.”

“Stop.” Aaron grimaces and plugs his fingers into his ears. “Please, Alex, just stop talking. Shut up!”

He whimpers and quickly paces the floor as he tries to drown out the deafening roar of Alexander’s words. He does not stop talking. Instead, he trails after Aaron, his feet not quite touching the floor.

“At least Little Philip is so young that he won’t remember me. My poor, sweet Angelica lost her mind when the first Philip was killed. I wonder how the others are taking my sudden demise? How does it feel, Burr, knowing that you’ve orphaned seven children? Did you know that Eliza was too distraught to attend my funeral? Are you happy now?”

“No!” Aaron whispers harshly. 

He shakes and beats the sides of his head with his fists until he knocks himself out.

* * *

He wakes a few hours later, when he can no longer bear the hunger. He opens the door to find a tray left in the corridor, a bowl of some indiscernible stew. 

Small bits of meat and carrots float on the top. When he picks up a spoonful and takes a tentative bite, it is unsurprisingly cold and unappetizing.

But, it is sorely needed nourishment. Aaron sighs and tilts his head back and quickly drinks the bowl without tasting it. He sets the bowl down on the tray and shuts the door, unsure of what to do next. 

He could call out, alert the slave to come get the tray, but his voice is hoarse and parched. He drops heavily onto the bed and buries his face in his hands. He wishes he had died instead.

"Either way you look at it, I've committed suicide. Politically speaking." 

Aaron starts at the feel of a hand on his back. He looks up and of course, Alexander is still there with him.

"So you have," he agrees. His tone is flat, but his brown eyes gleam. "You haven't got a snowball's chance in Hell of winning the presidency now."

Alex stands up. He pats Aaron's back again and brings his hand up to clutch his chin. "I knew from the beginning you didn't have it in you to be president."

Aaron blanches and breaks out of Alexander's hold. "You've made your point, Alex, alright? I'm...I'm sorry! I didn't...I never wanted it to happen! Can you believe that?"

Alexander smiles wanly. He winks at Aaron and sticks his tongue out at him.

"Sure I can. Challenging me to a duel was the stupidest, most reckless and impulsive thing you've ever done, ever will do. And you're...you're just not the sort of man who goes around doing stuff like that. In fact, it was only in that moment that I thought, briefly, that maybe I had misjudged you. And then, you actually went through with it!”

Aaron wails and lunges forward to wrap his arms around Alex, who shifts awkwardly and returns the embrace.

“Alright, Burr...Aaron, stop. You’ve spent enough time wallowing. Buck up, soldier. You don’t get to call it quits just because your life’s harder now. Leave this place. Sooner or later they’ll welcome you back in Washington. Finish out your term. Go out west. Find your own Eliza. **_Live._** ”

He abruptly vanishes. Aaron sniffs and clenches his hands into fists at his sides. Like it or not, Alex is right. It’s time for him to get on with his life.


End file.
